


Redeath

by trynfindme



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, mm let's eat fetuses, munch munch munch, unspoken horniness, what even is a healthy coping mechanism?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trynfindme/pseuds/trynfindme
Summary: In which Will and Hannibal consume a human fetus to reconcile Abigail's death. Season 2, pre-finale.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Redeath

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I would say I should be banned from writing but like,, they still let Anne Rice do it so apparently it's anyone's game

Baltimore, MD: Pregnant woman found dead and on gruesome display in the bathroom of her high rise apartment, suspected to be linked to two other murder cases in Silver Spring and Takoma Park. All victims were pregnant women in their early to mid thirties. Fetuses missing from all three scenes, statement from police chief implies they were surgically removed. While the woman’s name has not yet been released, it is suspected that…

~~~

He sets three places at the table.

Hannibal toils in the kitchen, fussing over every detail of his culinary exploits as always. The clanking of the pots and pans, Hannibal’s rhythmic footsteps across the tile flooring ringing out across the airwaves like birds, pecking mercilessly away at the seeds of sanity Will tries so hard to keep secured in his brain. It was so hard to feel sane in the same room as Hannibal Lecter. Unfortunate, Will thinks, that while the previous statement is inexorably true, when he is not in the same room as Hannibal Lecter he cannot seem to feel anything at all. A hand on his shoulder rouses him from his thoughts. The room around him fades back into existence, his eyes surveying the work he had absentmindedly completed. A place set for him, and for Hannibal. And… a third place, set for a guest that would not be attending. Will’s grief hangs over him like a silent specter.

“Symbolic,” Hannibal murmurs, “to set her a place as well. She will be with us here, during this meal, and when it is finished she will have truly gone.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” Will’s emotions battle within him, the desperate need for Hannibal to comfort him brutally warring with the unfathomable depths of rage that swim in his soul over what Hannibal had done. What Hannibal had taken from him. From both of them.

“Please, sit,” Hannibal says, moving towards the kitchen to collect the main course from the kitchen counter. Will pulls his chair back and hesitates for a moment as the room spins around him before sitting down. He had long since conquered his encephalitis, the mental torment Hannibal had put him through, but his grief weighs so heavy on his mind that it threatens to pull him down to the ground. He had imagined putting Hannibal through the same torment, but those fantasies never yielded as much pleasure as the ones that involved physical torture, bare and biblical punishment. Eventual murder. He had often fantasized about killing Hannibal with his hands, using them to grip the width of his warm neck and squeezing the life out of him, wrapping his lips around Hannibal’s gasping mouth to breathe in Hannibal’s final breaths with his own lungs. It would be beautiful.

“Kutti Pi,” Hannibal states contentedly as he slides a silver platter to the center of the table and pours both himself and Will a glass of fine Pinot Noir. Will nods and gives Hannibal a sort of half-smile. “An Anglo-Indian dish consisting of an animal fetus-- usually goat, or cow-- roasted and served in a red curry, fashioned into a delicacy though it’s considered to be taboo by both parent cultures.” Hannibal smiles and takes his place at the table, unfolding his napkin and placing it neatly in his lap. Will stares down at his empty plate and is surprised when a drop of water stains its pristine surface, a single tear that had traveled down his face. He places his shaking hands on the table to steady them before meeting Hannibal’s gaze.

“How could all of her fathers have failed her so miserably,” Will speaks in a low voice, his tone wavering as he stares into the depths of Hannibal’s deep brown eyes. “Uncommon for a young woman to have so many, and yet every single one of them...”

“We did that which we could.” Hannibal surveys Will’s crumbling composure with an inscrutable expression. “And now we must come to understand that which we did, and accept the truth of how things are. That is why I have invited you here, Will. So that you may reconcile her being gone with reality.”

“Reality is just a word. Reality barely means anything to me, you made sure of that,” Will spits as tremors rake across his shoulders and he reaches a hand up to massage his forehead, a familiar habit of his. “I may have found some sort of stability but she isn’t gone, Hannibal, she’s dead but she follows me wherever I go.”

Abigail smiles at him from her place at the table, brushing her hair out of her face and straightening her napkin in her lap. Her eyes follow Hannibal as he stands up and brings his chair next to Will’s, sitting down and reaching out to begin serving their empty plates.

“Do you know why it is so important that you have this meal, Will?” A mangled, lumpy shape vaguely resembling a human-- or some sort of alien, or a bug larvae-- appears on Will’s plate, with the thick red curry sliding down the sides and pooling in a circle at the center of the plate. “She was not yet a whole person, still so subject to influence.”

“Our influence.”

“Yes, and that of her father. She would have lived a very different life. She did not get to live a life at all, because they found out she had seemingly taken after her father.”

“ _You_ made her a killer. _You kill-- killed_ her--” Will shakes violently in his seat. Hannibal reaches out a delicate yet strong, deftly fingered hand to steady him.

“There is a killer in all of us, Will. A killer simply waiting to be brought to the surface.” Hannibal rearranges the silverware, absentmindedly comforting Will with soft touches. “She would have made a beautiful killer,” he muses. “But she would have been caught too soon, strangled in Jack Crawford’s web before her metamorphosis. Thus, the only suitable, merciful end that could be given to her was this.” Hannibal sunk a fork into the smooth mass, steadying the thing as he cut a piece off the end with his knife.

“Did you honor every part of her?” Will’s tears stream freely down his face as he feels his soul drain from his body, dripping through all the layers of soil and rock, finding its way to the bottom of Dante’s Inferno.

“This is the meal in which you will honor every part of her, and you honor her memory in doing so.” Will’s eyes burn into the empty air where Abigail sat, nodding, smiling, encouraging him. She understands. She wants him to accept what Hannibal is doing for him.

"We should have done right by her," Will utters in broken whispers as Hannibal plucks the trim cloth napkin from his lap and uses it to dry the sweat and tears that mingled on Will's face. Hannibal murmurs sweet nothings to comfort his dearest, delicately raising the first bite of roasted fetus to Will's lips. He inserts it into the wet, pink cavern of Will's mouth before pushing Will’s chin up and placing a hand over his lips to seal them.

"Chew."

Will begins to chew, slowly at first, then with more vigor. He feels the soft and tender morsels being crushed beneath his teeth, and he moans into Hannibal's hand. Hannibal looks away from the heated sight, closing his eyes momentarily to steady himself. An electric shudder runs all through his body at the sound of Will Graham’s swallow. It brings to memory all the other times he's heard that savory sound, in a million fervent fantasies. Most of them in more... _intimate_ contexts. Will’s lips part so that Hannibal can feed him another piece, then another. Red curry stains the edges of Will’s mouth. How dearly Hannibal wishes he could lean forward and clean the mess with his tongue, sliding his lips across Will’s like a sort of cannibalistic roomba. Instead, he dabs Will’s mouth dry with the edges of a napkin. The plate is empty.

“I want… I want you to die, for what you did to her. I want you to die at my hands.” Will murmurs as he turns to look at Hannibal directly, wishing he could ravage Hannibal as he takes him to his grave. How powerful it would feel to deliver Hannibal such pleasure as he denied him his life. Hannibal only smiled.

“I would love to hear more, dear Will.” He stands up. “But not tonight.”


End file.
